Sleeping on a Bed of Skulls
by Lovebites and Popcorn
Summary: All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t make dead sheep count to ten.


**Sleeping on a Bed of Skulls**

_All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't make dead sheep count to ten._

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Oh salvation, like drinking peppermint tea and listening to unfound music. Tune it up, tune it up. I can't hear them make any noise. And shush, I hear Boyfriend sneaking out the back door and into the dumpster beyond the gates of _Heaven_. Wait. Do I know you? I don't think I do. But _she_ does. She does. Who's she? You tell me. She's pretty. Way prettier than you. I think I may have fallen in love with her. Oh no, oh no. What am I saying? Like word vomit on a silver platter. It's dented. It has a big gash by its side. Do you see it? No. But it's there. I was blowing on it a few hours ago. And I hit it against the music stand. Oh the silver! It has marks on it now. The Melody Man will tell me to get out of his room. All my fault. My fault. Kill me. And then I'll figure out what to do afterwards. Kill me now.

The creepy music box plays its music and I listen to it over and over and over and over and over again. Like demon choirs with their _**oohs**_ and _**aahs**_ and _**tralalas**_ and I BEG YOU, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Triple rings. Hello? Roxy speaking. No he's not in. I took him out the backyard and shot him between the shoulder blades and in the forehead. Would you care to look at him? He's awfully pretty and red. No. Don't call the police! I'm not worthy. Wait. Wait. Wait. I hear singing! No, it's just the music box. Good bye. I need rest. The ground looks like it's about to swallow me up.

And the peppermint tea tastes so bad and rotten. But I'm drinking it down. Drinking it down down down the rabbit hole. You like rabbit holes? Me too! They're pretty. Cuz you tumble and fall and no, you don't get back up. Unless you're Alice. Alice, who climbed back up from the depths of _Hell_. I cannot do that! And who the fuck is Alice? Ask my darling twin sister. She'll tell you. But sadly, she's over there on the floor, draped over the broken glass, dead. No. Stop asking me why.

Shush, shush lady blue bird. Sing your song and I won't _stab_ you with my butter knife. Knife. What knife? Ha ha! I don't have anything in my hand but a key and a blackened cigarette! Shhhh... he's got that pretty conceited little smile and such silver hair. And he's _watching_. He saw me singing the music box lullaby to the newborn baby in the cot. He saw me shoot Boyfriend. Ooh. Ooooh. Shiny little hero, he thinks he is, that smug fellow with the ugly shiny hair. Toying with people's minds. Go, go. _**Shoo**_.

Help save me. I think the world's gone to pot. It's dangling down the stairwell now. Rivulets of blood. Drip, drip, drip. Oh, look at those bright red entrails hanging from the banister! Looks the colour of Boyfriend's hair! I could stare all day. But no, no. No time for that. I must be off to make some music like the Melody Man does and drink some goddamn peppermint tea!

Mad Hatter. Tea. I'll eat the March Hare and then I'll steal his pocket watch. I need it to smash in the lid of the music box because it doesn't work at all! I'll make it work. And purple ink and paper spirals will splatter all down your little white dress, dear sister, and that'll make everything ooookay.

Little baby over there, why do you cry? WHY DO YOU CRY?! Oh no. Didn't mean to scream at you, Sora. It was an _accident_, I swear it on Boyfriend's grave. Lie down. Don't frown. Don't crawl away, little one. Don't look at me like that! It doesn't make sense! Boyfriend said he'd give you away, did he not? Because Boyfriend didn't want to keep you – says you're not his to keep, says you were conceived out of sin! Silly notion! But I didn't want you to go away so soon. So I had to make Boyfriend _understand_. But he never listens to me anyway. And then he killed your mommy! So I made _him_ go away.

See, little one? You can stay with me now.

Daddy will take care of you, after I talk to that man outside with the silver hair who saw _everything_.

_**Now where's my butter knife?**_

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_**Author's note: **__Another artistic piece. D: Yeah, I'm terrible, aren't I? Written in the same style as__** 'Like Sheep on Death Row'**__, I suppose. If this didn't make any sense to you, don't worry. The line between delusion and reality kind of gets pretty blurred. So it's a little hard to interpret. Cookies for people who do, though._

_Review? :)_


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